Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C67

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Chapter 67: Real or Fake?

Unlike the sparsely populated underground malls of later years—where most storefronts had shuttered—the underground mall in 2012 buzzed with life.

By mid-July, Chongqing, one of China’s infamous "three furnaces," was already flexing its oppressive heat. Elderly residents gathered at stairwell entrances to enjoy the air conditioning, some clutching radios as they chatted and listened with their friends. And yes, come midnight, even vagrants would find refuge here for a night's rest.

The mall housed everything from phone shops and gaming stores to children’s clothing boutiques, tailors, and women’s fashion outlets. It was livelier than many commercial streets.

Gu Lu spent three hundred yuan on two sets of clothes, sticking to neutral tones like black, white, and gray, along with a pair of shoes. He didn’t buy too much—recent dreams of flying suggested he might be growing taller soon, so stocking up now seemed wasteful if his current size became obsolete.

Wandering through the bustling underground market, Gu Lu scanned every stall, hoping to stumble upon something that could trigger another sequence synthesis. Alas, an entire afternoon yielded no results.

“Some things can only happen by chance,” Gu Lu mused. “But the more I try new things, the better my chances.”

He recalled how his last synthesis worked. In After School, the key item was a bow and arrow, which corresponded neatly with the murder weapon—a kyūdō bow used to block a sliding door. Buying a bow for his sister had inadvertently triggered the synthesis.

If not for her birthday gift, Gu Lu doubted he’d ever have owned a bow—or unlocked After School.

“Dear god,” he whispered under his breath. “I’ll trade all fifty thousand dog thieves’ lives just to get my next usable work.”

With that silent prayer concluded, Gu Lu didn’t forget practical matters. He picked out several pairs of underwear, stuffed them into his bag, and headed home.

Time to hit the road!

---

Two days later, Gu Lu locked his bedroom door behind him and boarded a bus to the airport. Having his ID made travel easy—he was old enough to handle domestic flights independently.

[Han Cang: Mr. Gu, have you arrived at the airport yet? Let me know when you do.]

Though Gu Lu, with his adult-like mindset, found solo air travel mundane and stress-free, Han Cang fretted endlessly. Since yesterday, he’d been calling repeatedly, reminding Gu Lu of every possible precaution.

Gu Lu sent a quick reply to reassure his editor before checking in. His luggage was minimal: two changes of clothes and a universal charger, all fitting snugly into a small backpack—no need for checked baggage.

Not many people remembered universal chargers these days. As long as the metal contacts aligned, they could charge any type of battery. Ah, but Gu Lu had forgotten to mention before—by the time of his untimely death in his previous life, phones were already sleek, unibody designs.

He preferred older phones; at least you could pop the battery out if it froze…

After waiting half an hour in the departure lounge, Gu Lu boarded smoothly. Before powering down for takeoff, he sent one last message to Han Cang. The flight ahead offered ample opportunity for sleep—an appealing prospect after staying up late chatting with Zhao Juan on QQ last night.

Funny how neither of them remembered who initiated the conversation first. But since graduation, Zhao Juan had been surprisingly proactive, often reaching out to share stories about her summer adventures.

To Gu Lu, it felt like peeking through a tiny window into someone else’s bright, happy world. Zhao Juan’s father, a police officer, was perpetually busy—but somehow always managed to carve out time for family dinners and outings. Through their chats, Gu Lu learned that Zhao Juan had enrolled in No. 1 High School at her parents’ insistence.

“I wonder how many classmates ended up at No. 8 High School,” Gu Lu mused. “Hopefully not zero.” He suspected former classmates like Sister Nana (the class monitor), Zhou Lin, and Jia Luo might have qualified.

Flipping open the QQ group chat for his grade, he noticed the usual flurry of activity. People posted constantly—even late into the night—but no one mentioned their new schools.

Gu Lu lurked silently, scrolling through messages until it was time to switch off his phone for takeoff.

The flight from Chongqing to Harbin stretched nearly four hours—plenty of time for Gu Lu to catch up on sleep. Meanwhile, halfway across the country, Han Cang hadn’t slept either. As one of the main coordinators for the event, he bore the brunt of organizing duties.

His restless night stemmed from the sheer scale of this unprecedented gathering. “Mr. Three Pancakes, are you on the plane yet? What about Mr. Jinghe?”

“Quick, align the data over here!”

“Anyone available? Mr. Cat-San-Ning has arrived at the airport. Has someone gone to pick him up? Anyone?”

The editorial office of Chronicles of Mystery had rented a hotel conference room as their temporary headquarters, but chaos reigned supreme. Editors scurried back and forth, faces etched with expressions that screamed, Don’t bother me unless you want an explosion.

Cat-San-Ning, one of the magazine’s star writers, was a rare breed—a member of the Writers’ Association capable of penning both detective fiction and literary works. His novels, laced with themes of fatalism, had captivated readers in Shanghai during their serialization.

“If no one’s going, I will,” Han Cang volunteered. Cat-San-Ning couldn’t be left waiting.

“What about Mr. Gu?” Senior Editor Gao interjected suddenly.

“He boarded at nine this morning. Arrival is scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon,” Han Cang replied.

“You stay put. Focus on Mr. Gu. He’s still a minor, and we’d bear full responsibility if anything went wrong.”

As editor-in-chief, Gao prioritized caution.

“Dudu, go fetch Cat-San-Ning,” Gao instructed.

Dudu, whose real name was Li Du, earned his nickname due to his beer belly. A veteran editor at Chronicles of Mystery, sending him signaled respect for Cat-San-Ning’s stature.

Han Cang returned to his seat, juggling other tasks such as finalizing arrangements for the author banquet venue.

“Hey, Han Cang,” piped up Li Nuo, a tall, lanky editor nearby. “Are you telling me that Gu Lu—the guy who wrote those pieces—is really underage?”

“It baffles me too,” Han Cang admitted. “The depths of human darkness explored in The Stalker in the Attic don’t read like the work of a teenager. It’s as though the author stared directly into the abyss.”

“C’mon, spill—are we hyping this as a gimmick?”

“I disagree. The writing reflects the writer. Based on the text, I believe the author is incredibly perceptive, perhaps even hypersensitive. That sensitivity allows them to dissect human nature. The only puzzling part is the age.”

This discussion piqued the curiosity of all the corresponding editors present, despite the hectic workload leaving little mental space for gossip.

“He’s not just underage—he’s a high school student,” Han Cang confirmed. “Mr. Gu is a prodigious talent, especially skilled at mimicry. If his style feels profound, it’s because his earlier works drew inspiration from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. Recently, he’s shifted styles again for a new serialized piece, which promises to be equally compelling.”

“Is it really as mystical as you’re making it sound?” Li Nuo sounded skeptical, echoing the sentiments of the other editors.

Han Cang refrained from elaborating further. After all, before reading the first volume of Mr. Holmes, even he hadn’t believed it.

“You’ll understand once it’s published,” was all he said.

An hour later, amidst the chaos of the meeting room, Han Cang stood up to leave. It was time to head to Taiping International Airport in Harbin to greet Mr. Gu.

Truthfully, aside from phone calls, Han Cang had never met Gu Lu in person. He was curious—what kind of person was hiding behind that voice?

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